


You Would Never Know

by goshdangitsjo



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, T'hy'la, Tagged Explicit For Later Chapters, minor injury, well I mean it was established but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-08-29 07:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshdangitsjo/pseuds/goshdangitsjo
Summary: After a terrorist attack during a diplomatic away mission, Jim wakes up in sickbay. He survived the attack with nothing but a few broken ribs and a concussion, it seems, until Bones discovers that Jim has no memory of his relationship with his closest friends — or Spock. Everything else is there, his skills as a captain and his knowledge of starfleet and the enterprise for the most part intact, but he has little recollection of the friendships he's formed with his crew.With the bond between him and his T'hy'la severed, Spock finds himself lost trying to help Jim recover the memories of their relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because I love suffering and I apparently can’t work on just one thing at a time ever.  
> Also we stan run-on sentences and similes, apparently. They’re more ~dramatique~
> 
> If you like this work, please check out my other works! Neither of the ones I have up are as angsty as this. Leave comments or message me on tumblr @goshdangitsjo if you enjoy this chapter!

Everything was a haze. Jim couldn’t remember where he was, what he was doing, why he felt like there was a tank rolling over his chest. His vision was white and then black, his head ringing with the noise he couldn’t quite place.

Someone was shouting, he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he couldn’t respond, he only knew that he needed to be found, that everything was fading in and out and he  _ hurt _ and he couldn’t stand it anymore. His mind struggled to regain itself.  _ An explosion _ . The thought came to Jim like a speeding train, rushing into his consciousness with ferocity demanding to be payed attention.  _ Spock, is Spock okay?  _ Came the next thought, though he couldn’t place the name with a face or remember why he was so worried. The voice was getting closer, it was muffled but frantic with the deep rumble of a sob. Jim felt hands on his shoulder, though it felt like they were touching him through two inches of plastic wrap. He felt a shock run through his body as he was hoisted off of the ground and a sharp sting in his skull.

He was floating, all around him a vast expanse of white and bursts of colors, and time passed in a fever as he blinked once to see a wreckage around him, swinging wildly and upside down and he realized he was slung over someone’s shoulder before slipping back into that white world.

The next time something solid materialized, it was a man standing over him, a mask covering the lower half of his face and eyes full of concentration as he focused on the strange box covering Jim’s chest. He felt a sting in his bones, ribs shifting in ways they shouldn’t, and then it was white again.

This happened more times than Jim could count, that timeless space coming and going until Jim couldn’t remember which world was real. He didn’t want the world with the fluorescent lights, with the strange contraption and the blond woman standing next to the concerned man with looks of worry on their faces because it  _ hurt _ there, but he kept being called back. Something in his mind tied him into the world with sensations, keeping him tethered, keeping him from slipping into the nothingness altogether.

* * *

 

He blinked. Once, twice, testing the control he had over his face with a yawn and then a grimace in pain.

His chest felt like it was on fire, and he glanced down to view the stark white bandages that were, presumably, keeping his ribs in place. Jim slumped his head back against the pillow, exhausted from the effort it had taken him to raise it.

_ Now where am I? _ The thought flickered into his mind with an electric jolt. The room looked so familiar and the thought was there on the tip of his tongue, he should know this he should —  _ sickbay _ .

_ Where is that?  _ It was obviously a medical ward, that much was clear. He could remember an explosion, they had been in a city. It was bustling and bright.  _ Who were they? _ Jim tried to recall the faces from the day of the explosion —  _ the away team _ —but nothing came to him but the colors of their shirts. Blue. Red. Jim’s had been gold.

The thoughts were making him feel dizzy and made his head pound. Jim closed his eyes against the bright glare of lights in the ward, willing his headache away.

He heard light footsteps approach his bed, then a gentle pressure on his arm. Jim lifted the heavy lids of his eyes to see the concerned man standing next to his bed with a padd in his hands, relief sweeping over his face as he saw that Jim was awake.

“Thank god,” the concerned man breathed out, the tension in his shoulders visibly melting away. “Jim, you gave us a real scare, there. You were on the operating table for four hours. Those bastards used an illegal radio explosive that drove the shrapnel deep into you. That, plus the trauma from being blown back 30 feet through the air, nearly crushed by a fallen wall… Jim, we thought we were gonna lose our captain. We weren’t sure you were even gonna wake up.”

Jim stared up at him, trying to absorb all that the man — obviously a doctor, a surgeon — had said. Confusion knit itself into his brow. Explosion. Yes, he remembered that. The weight on his chest — the toppled wall. That must have been what broke his ribs.

_ Captain. _

That was what Jim was really lingering on.

_ Captain of a ship, a starship. _

The thought was strange. Fitting and foreign in the folds of what he could call his memory. There were glimpses. A stiff-backed chair in front of a viewing screen. The science station to his right, navigation in front of him. All of the physical memories were there, but none of the practice.

“Bones,” the word came out naturally from his lips, though his voice was horse and raw. What did that mean? Jim’s head hurt trying to remember where ‘bones’ had wormed its way out of his subconscious.

The doctor —  _ Bones, McCoy, Leonard McCoy  _ — startled back into himself, reaching to the bedside table to grab the glass of water sitting there. He tilted it gently to Jim’s lips, the cool water rushing into Jim’s dry mouth, relieving the parch.

“Take your time, Jim, you’ve been out of it for two and half weeks. I’ve already called Spock down here. He’d never admit it to me, but I’m sure he’s furious with himself for not being here when you woke up. I forced him back on duty four days ago, but he’s been spending every spare moment by your side. As per usual.” The doctor gave a roll to his eyes, but there was no malice in the action. More of a curmudgeonly affection.

_ Spock. _ It was a name, that much was clear. And it held a place in Jim’s mind, but he couldn’t uncover its relevance. Jim’s confusion grew, lining itself on his face like it had been painted on. The doctor noticed immediately, concern making its way back into the lines of his face like it was his natural state.

“Jim?” He spoke tentatively, almost as if he were afraid of breaking the man with his words. He walked to the counter and picked up the medscanner that sat there, bringing it back over to examine his captain.

The scanner beeped and whirred, Bones moved it up and down the length of Jim’s body, stopping at his head to look at the readings there.

“Jim, could you tell me where we are right now?” McCoy asked, setting the medscanner down on the bedside table, apprehension clear on his face.

Jim hesitated before answering. Once he spoke, it meant that this was real, that he had to start dealing with the fact that he couldn’t seem to recall anything about who he was sure were his friends, about his life, about who he was and where he fit in.

“I…” The word came out as a whisper, his voice came to his ears through cotton and far away. “I can tell you that we’re in sickbay. That we’re on a federation starship. I can tell you that your name is Leonard McCoy and that my name is Jim Kirk.”

His breath left him. He didn’t want to admit what he knew came next. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, avoiding the doctor’s blue gaze.

“But that’s all you know.” Jim nodded. Something like a resolution set into the doctor's face before his head dropped and a hand came up to cover his eyes in defeat.

“Jim, I’m so sorry.” he sighed out, his shoulders shaking ever so slightly at the emotion that was overcoming him. “I promise I will do my best to fix this. We’ll help you get back. There are all kinds of treatment for trauma-induced amnesia — we’ll get to work right away and Spock will be able to —“ The doctor stopped abruptly, a new emotion crossing into his face, one close to horror.

“Jim, what do you remember about Spock?”

His head began to ache again at the effort to recall something — anything — about the man that so clearly cared so much for Jim. His mind was reeling, the effort putting more and more pressure on his skull as he struggled to find an answer.

His eyes flitted back and forth, trying to find some kind of escape from the life that he had been placed back into. He felt scrambled and disoriented, his eyes screwed shut and he thought he might pass out from the confusion that had his brain gripped like a vice. It felt like there was something missing, some vital part of him that had been ripped out like poorly placed sutures.

McCoy put a hand on Jim’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart as the panic gripped him.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, Jim, we’ll fix it, it’ll be okay, we’ll make sure it’s okay.” The doctor spoke in calm and low tones, trying to reassure his patient even as tears welled obviously on the brims of his eyes.

Jim couldn’t catch his breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t see, and then there was someone else at the door, a man, tall and lithe and —  _ Spock  _ — he knew, though he still didn’t know why. The man was Vulcan, his ears curled up into a point, his shiny black hair fell into neat bangs atop his forehead, his hands were clasped behind his back.

When he saw Jim with McCoy’s hand against his chest, breathing heavily and panic in his eyes, Spock rushed over to Jim’s bedside, carefully sitting on the edge of the small mattress and taking Jim’s hand in his own.

A wash of calm rushed over Jim’s mind, his heart rate slowed and his breathing steadied. His mind was still a whirlwind of confusion, his thoughts startled at the effect that the man sitting next to him had on his brain, and it was all too much and Jim didn’t know what to do so he jerked his hand back, and an electric hum subsided from where their skin had met.

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly at the action, but kept himself from reaching toward Jim’s hand again.

Spock was concentrating deeply on Jim’s face, his forehead drawn down and a look close to confusion clouded over his eyes when Jim only stared blankly back at him.

Quickly, Doctor McCoy placed a hand on the Vulcan man’s shoulder, jolting him from whatever he was trying to accomplish as he motioned for Spock to follow him into the hallway.

“Doctor McCoy…” Spock trailed off, glancing between him and Jim with a minute display of frustration working its way onto his face. He reluctantly stood up and followed the doctor out the door, which slid shut as soon as they were on the other side.

Jim didn’t know what to think. He was confused and tired and the back of his head was aching as though it had a cut, as though there was an infection in his thoughts.

Jim couldn’t place the feeling, but it was frustrating, an itch he couldn’t scratch. His eyes swam, and he realized he was crying. A feeling of loss swept over him, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It was all so confusing, and Jim could feel his mind giving up, exhaustion taking over as he slipped back into the white haze of sleep.

*************************************

On the other side of the door, Spock was barely containing the well of sorrow that had sprung open at McCoy’s words.

“I’m so sorry, Spock, I promise you I will do everything I can to fix it. There was no way of knowing the full extent of the damage until he woke from the coma, I never dreamed that it could be this bad.” The doctor looked as defeated as Spock felt, but not nearly as angry.

“There is no fixing this, Doctor.” Spock gritted out with as little spite as he could manage. It wasn’t McCoy’s fault, not really, but Spock felt the strong hand of rage gripping his mind. Rage and grief and all of the swirl of loss. “I could not feel Jim’s presence when he woke. I could not read his emotions. I thought that when we touched, there would be a reopening of the bond, but all I recieved was fear and confusion from Jim’s mind. He could not read my thoughts, he could not hear the words that I spoke into his mind. Our bond has been severed. It is as if he never knew me.”

At the last words, it was all Spock could do to contain the sob rising in his throat. Jim was gone.  _ His  _ Jim. The hopelessness of the situation crushed down upon him, his throat closed around the noises his human mind wanted to release. What came out was a strangled grunt, and a single saline tear formed along the rim of his eye. Spock blinked it back. He would not — he  _ could _ not — show weakness in front of the doctor. His emotional displays were reserved for Jim and Jim alone but Jim was gone and that realization was enough to cause Spock to keel over where he stood, squatting down onto his heels and curling himself tight into a ball as silent tears drew their way down his high cheeks.

McCoy was down on the floor with him, his hand hovering over Spock’s back, not sure if it would help to physically comfort the crying man before him. Instead, McCoy offered kind words, soothing Spock with the sound of his even voice, though Spock could sense that the doctor was on the verge of breakdown, too.

They stayed that way for a few minutes, McCoy’s hand finally resting on Spock’s shoulder, rubbing small circles as they shared the grief that they felt.

“We’re gonna fix this, Spock. We have too. I don’t care how long it takes, we’ll get him back.”

Spock offered no reply. He felt little hope in light of the severed connection between him and his love, his  _ T’hy’la. _ Eventually, Spock rose. Without another word to McCoy, he left sickbay, emotions still swirling in his gut as he made his way to his own quarters for meditation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk how concussions or amnesia work. Damn it, Jim, I’m a writer, not a neurosurgeon.

**Sorrow. Pain. Anger.** The emotions swirled inside of Spock, and he plucked them out of his mind one by one. They all had an obvious and singular source; it was not difficult to find a place for them in his mind.

Getting them to remain in their compartments would prove a different matter.

**Loss. Grief. Despair.** It took all night to subdue the waves of bitter and foul emotion that flooded wracked his mind.

He sat in his robes, on the floor of their — his — no,  _ their _ — quarters. It was so quiet. Far too quiet without the steady rhythm of another breath in the room, or the squeak of a stylus against the screen of a padd as Jim did paperwork.

Spock required silence to meditate. It had been one of the more difficult adjustments to living with Jim, always restless, always with new ideas to vocalize. But now, with his perfect silence and uninterrupted trance, Spock felt more distracted than ever.

**Guilt. Love.** Spock did not want to feel the next feeling, the one he had been avoiding in the dregs of his thoughts, the one he had pushed to the bottom so that he could deal with the easy ones first. Because, really, all of these so far had been easy, they had been an acceptance of the situation, a recognition of the loss he had faced, a salute to his own logic. But not this next one. It bubbled up, unwanted, unbridled, and burned itself into the forefront of Spock’s mind and blazed like the sun or like Jim’s eyes.

**_Hope._ **

It bruised itself behind Spock’s eyes, taking root and growing even as he tore at the feeling, casting it out. He could not hope, there was no hope, if Spock dared to  _ hope _ all was lost, because there was nothing to be done.

Acceptance was the logical next step.

But when concerning James T. Kirk, life was rarely logical.

* * *

Spock started.  _ 0600 hours _ , his internal chronometer seemed to buzz. He had spent the night meditating. When he stood, his legs felt cramped, and so he took a moment to stretch before proceeding to the sonic shower. He washed and dressed slowly, all too aware that he still had no plans on how to address the situation with Jim.

He wanted nothing more than to rush to sickbay immediately, to scoop Jim into his arms and tell him that everything would be okay. But he could not. Jim had jerked away as though burned by Spock’s touch when he had projected calm onto his  _ t’hy’la’s  _ mind.

So instead, Spock went through his normal morning routine and reported to the bridge. Gamma shift was just ending, and Spock took position as acting captain. For the first two weeks of Jim’s incapacitation, Spock had stayed with him in sickbay while Lieutenant Commander Scott held the conn. After Doctor McCoy saw that his prescriptions for rest were not being heeded, he ordered Spock out of sickbay and back to work so that he would “get out of my damn medical ward, you overbearing hobgoblin.” 

It felt horribly wrong to be on the bridge without the captain. It felt horribly wrong to be so distant from him, in proximity and emotionally. He was sitting in the wrong chair with the wrong responsibilities and the overbearing  _ wrongness _ of it all threatened to overwhelm the shields he had so meticulously built back up overnight.

He needed to be with Jim.

*************************************

There was a tug like a rope just behind his eyes, and they opened blinking at the white light that had suddenly flooded the room. He glanced around, eyes finding the concerned man standing in the doorway.

“How ya feelin’, Jim?” he didn’t move any closer. His arms were crossed and his blue eyes squinted, wary of the man in the bed.

Jim took a deep breath. His ribs still ached, but he was able to sit up with little more than a grimace.

“Better rested, at least.” Jim replied honestly. He no longer had a pounding headache, it had subsided to a faint thrum. Constant, but not overwhelming. And his senses had returned to him fully, it wasn’t as jumbled as it had been the first time he’d woken up.

_ My name is James T. Kirk, I am Captain here on the Starship  _ Enterprise _. _ He reached over to the bedside table, bringing the glass of water to his lips. It was tepid. Stale tasting.

“What time is it? How long was I asleep?”

“It’s 1330. I thought I’d see if you wanted anything to eat. How’s a cup of coffee sound?” Bones looked him over, still hovering at the edge of the room. He looked uncomfortable, his voice sounded tight.

“Coffee sounds great, thanks doctor.” 

“Bones.” The doctor corrected, his eyes cast toward the floor and voice low. “Sorry, it doesn’t really matter, but you don’t really call me ‘doctor.’ Usually I have to remind you of that fact. I’m either ‘Bones’ or ‘McCoy.’” He got softer as the sentence went on, until Jim was leaning forward to catch his words. Jim nodded. He felt his throat constrict and swallowed.

“Right.” Jim said, his voice matching the tone of the doctor’s. “Thanks…. Bones.”

He left to grab Jim some lunch.

Jim closed his eyes again, trying to find anything that he could talk to the doctor about when he returned. Oh, he certainly had questions. There was so much that he needed to know. He could feel knowledge sitting in his head like muscle memory, waiting to be pushed into practice. He was itching to be back on the bridge, relearning his crew and regaining command. It was all he wanted. His command was the most important thing in his life, he could feel it, and he would give anything to be Captain Kirk once again.

And he could. It was all there. Procedure, regulation — information easily accessed by Jim’s brain. He could read it in his mind so easily, but when he started to think about anything he had ever  _ done  _ with that information —

His head started up its drumming.

_ Damn it all. _

There was nothing there, none of the missions he’d surely lead, none of the crew he had grown so close to.

And Spock.

The strange man with the electric hands and the pointed ears and the dark eyes and the connection to something deep within —

Pounding again.

Mccoy came back shortly with a steaming mug and a plate full of colorful bulk nutrition.

“Now I know you’re not a fan of this gelatine, but it’s the best way for me to measure your intake while you’re still in sickbay. So get used to eating it and try not to complain too much or I’ll start tuning you out.” McCoy strolled in with a swagger in his step, a familiar feeling crept up into Jim and he smiled. The doctor seemed at ease, and he surely knew Jim well because the sight of the cubes made him groan inwardly.

Once Jim had his food in front of him and had at least swallowed some of it, McCoy broached the conversation.

“So. Jim.” He looked pointedly at the man on the bed. “Ask away, what do you want to know?” His hands were clasped in front of him and he had taken a seat in the pleather armchair against the wall.

“How soon can I be back in the chair?” Jim complied immediately, holding the doctor’s steely blue gaze with his own.

McCoy sighed heavily, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose before rubbing into his eyes.

“Damnit, Jim. Well, I guess it’s good to know that your personality wasn’t damaged with that blasted concussion.” He dropped his hand and his head. “I can give you a proficiency and psych test and if you pass you’d technically be clear to command today. But I don’t advise it, Jim.”

“Give me the test.” Jim deadpanned, trying his best to convince the man in front of him that he was still his captain. “I may not have all my memories available to me, but I do know that I belong on that bridge. There’s something pulling me there. Who knows, it could help jog something loose, right?” Jim ended with an almost-plea. Whether to the doctor or to his own brain, Jim wasn’t quite sure.

“Jim, ask me another question before I give it to you. I’m… curious as to what your first — second — thought is.” McCoy was staring into him again, a sense of apprehension just barely making itself known in the lines around his eyes.

“I guess the only other thing… The only other person I can ask about is, uh, Spock, right? He’s my first officer.” He could remember that. “He was wearing blue, so chief science officer, too, yeah? Obviously also a very dear friend of mine, just judging by… well, y’know…” Jim scrunched his eyes against the barbs that seemed to hack at his mind.

“I seem to get a headache whenever I try to remember something. Is there anything you can do about that?” Jim asked, and if it helped to avoid the conversation about Spock, it surely wasn’t his intention.

“Hmph.” McCoy got up and rustled through the different hypo injections over at the counter. “I’ve got a general painkiller that could help if it’s a tension headache…” he pressed the hypo against Jim’s skin and it released the drug into his system. “But Jim, I really do have to talk to you about Spock. I don’t think… I don’t know if he’d be able to handle seeing you without you having any clue…”

“Hey, I’ve got a clue!” Jim argued “In case you didn’t notice, I totally remembered that he’s my first officer. No context clues or deduction, either! Just plain old memory.”

The look Bones shot him told Jim that he absolutely-did-not-have-a-clue-you-amnesiac-fool. And Jim could read the sentence clear as day in his friend’s face.

“...okay…” Jim tried again. “Tell me about Spock.”

McCoy took a long pause, allowing the moment the weight it deserved.

“Jim, Spock is your husband.”

Jim blinked. His eyes immediately went to his left hand, bare of a ring. McCoy caught the look, and quickly course-corrected.

“No, not — you’re  _ Vulcan _ married, Jim, I thought it’d be easier to just call him your husband as an introduction to the idea rather than calling him your… bond… mate….”  McCoy looked supremely uncomfortable at the turn of phrase, his eyes meeting everything but Jim’s before he rushed to explain the rest.

“I mean, you  _ act  _ like husbands. You share quarters, you eat together, you play convoluted games of chess. You love each other, Jim. Deeply. Or at least  _ Spock _ loves  _ you _ , but he’d never admit that to me.” The doctor searched Jim’s face desperately, looking for any sign of recognition or understanding. Jim felt hollow, empty, shocked.

“No. I can't… I’m not  _ married. _ ” Jim started, his mind reeling trying to find something,  _ anything _ that would corroborate McCoy’s assertion. “I would know that. I would remember  _ that _ , surely, I couldn’t forget…” Tears began to well up in Jim’s eyes, he was so confused, he felt so lost he needed — what did he need? What was he searching for, there, in the back of his mind where something was gone some part of him torn out and scrambled.

“How could I forget falling in love?” Jim was horrified. Saline drops brimmed up and over his eyes, blurring his vision and obscuring the image of McCoy coming to sit on the edge of his bed.

“I’m sorry, Jim.” McCoy said gently, his hand rested on his shoulder. “You have to know that I am going to do everything in my power to fix this, to get you back… but at this point — right now — I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

It took everything within Jim to regain control. He concentrated on his breathing for a few long minutes, just feeling the air move in and out of his lungs, Bones present and silent beside him. There was so much to his life that just wasn’t there. The unknown wasn’t usually something that caused Jim fear, but when that unknown was details of Jim’s own life…

“Give me the test, Bones.” Jim requested, his voice scratchy and dry from tears. He needed something that was familiar, something that was undoubtedly a part of himself to give him a sort of anchor to his life. Command was that something right now.

“You don’t want to…?” The question hung between them, and Jim knew that the doctor expected Jim to want to see Spock, but there was nothing in Jim’s mind that connected him with the Vulcan, there was nothing that he could tell about the man who had stayed by his side through two weeks of unconsciousness.

“I don’t think I could.” He didn’t think he could face the man who was his husband, who loved Jim and cared so deeply for him… while feeling no reciprocation. The thought of it churned his stomach and made him so uncomfortable that it took a moment to meet the doctor’s eyes once again. “I just need to be back in the chair again. Please, Leonard, please just let me take the test.”

The doctor nodded, leaving to retrieve a padd for the exam.

* * *

“All stations, red alert.” A deep voice came over the intercom, and Jim sat up straighter in his chair, pulling his other shoe on just as the lights began to flash. “All hands, battle stations.”

_ What the hell? _

“Bones!” Jim called out, standing quickly to find the doctor. The starship shook, and it took all of Jim’s muscular control not to fall back onto the floor. His ribs ached, but the pain didn’t distract from his need to find McCoy.

“Bones, tell me I’m cleared for duty, I’ve got to get up to the bridge right away.” He yelled, madly dashing toward the doctor’s office just as McCoy poked his head out. “McCoy, tell me I’m cleared for duty!”

Jim had dressed, command gold and black pants. Back in uniform, ready for work.

“Jim, you passed the eval, but I don’t recommend leaving sickbay! You still have fractures in your ribs, they haven’t healed all the way — you risk rebreaking them with too much strain.”

The ship shook again, and there was the sound of an explosion somewhere.

“Damn my ribs, Bones, my ship has been hit!” with that, Jim ran out of sickbay and to the turbolift. Bones jammed himself in just as the doors were sliding shut, medscanner in hand, running it back and forth over Jim’s chest.

“I can’t stop you from getting on the bridge, but so help me I’ll be there to pick up the pieces once you break yourself again.” Bones muttered to himself.

The doors opened once again, and they stepped out onto the bridge.

Even with alarms blaring and red flashes of light, it was the most beautiful sight Jim had ever seen. He only allowed himself a second to revel in his joy before turning to the woman sitting at the communications station. A lieutenant, red dress, eyes concentrating.

“Lieutenant, report.” Jim commanded, the woman turning to him with blatant surprise on her face.

“Captain!” She exclaimed, shocked out of her concentration.

“Yes, Lieutenant, please report!” He needed to know what was happening, damnit.

She quickly regained her composure and complied. “Standard patrol at the edge of neutral zone, Captain. Romulans have crossed, three ships at mark 9.”

“And we’ve been hit. Lieutenant, contact starfleet command and call for an assist.”

“Already done, Captain, the  _ Lexington _ and the  _ Farragut _ in route, mark 3.”

“Shield report, chief engineer!” Jim turned to the man standing by engineering, dark hair swept sideways across his forehead.

“Aye, Captain, we’ve been hit. Shields are at 5% and dropping, Sir!” The man had a scottish accent, and Jim’s lip quirked at the sound, at its familiarity.

“I want you down in engineering, divert all power from decks three through five to shield power. Everything but life support, Scotty, go!” Scotty. Yes, of course, Scotty. Second officer Mr. Scott. He hurried immediately to the turbolift, zooming to the lower level.

And then there was a man at his side. Jim glanced over and saw the tall figure of Spock, and there was no surprise in Jim. It was as it should be, after all, his first officer by his side.

“Mr….” Jim coughed, remembering all that Bones had told him. He dropped his eyes from the Vulcan and directed his attention instead to navigation.

“Helmsman!” the man turned in his seat to meet Jim’s eyes. “Adjust our position, move us below the attacking ships relative to their positions. I want to drop down and around them to get behind the ship at our port side. Hold them between us and the other two, and fire all phasers on it.”

“Yes, Captain.” His hands flew to adjust course, expertly dancing across the controls.

“Excellent maneuver, Captain, to use the alpha ship as a hostage to stave off attacks from the other two.” Spock. He was still standing by Jim, his face a mask of professionalism even as his soft words praised Jim.

“Thank you Mr. Spock, but we aren’t out of the woods yet.” Jim replied, perhaps too loudly, uncomfortable with the display of admiration from his first officer.

He pressed the com button on the captains chair as he swung himself into the seat.

“Bridge to engineering, report on those shields, Mr. Scott.” Jim had a plan forming, but he would need power in shields and warp.

“Shields at 75% and holding, Captain.”

“Could we concentrate power in the rear and jump to warp?”

“Aye, Captain, though it’d take us out of it! With shields reduced to 50% and only covering our ass, we’d be able to make warp 4 for seven minutes.”

“That’ll do, Mr. Scott, stand by to comply.” Jim turned his attention back to helm. “Fire all phasers on the alpha ship and prepare to warp to position mark 3, and meet up with the assist. As soon as those phasers hit, we’re out of here.”

“Yes, sir.” The helmsman once again danced across the control, and beams of light fired on the ship before them on the viewscreen. “Direct hit, Captain.”

“Take us out, helm! Engineering, divert that shield power,  _ now!” _ The ship shook once again as they lurched into warp, speeding away to intercept and unite with the  _ Farragut  _ and  _ Lexington _ . Photon charges hit them from behind at their retreat, but only two hit — one from each of the remaining active Romulan ships. Another explosion rocked the  _ Enterprise _ , but soon enough they had met with the assists and were turned around to drive the Romulans back into the neutral zone.

“Captain, injuries reported on decks four, five, and six.” The communications officer pierced Jim’s eyes with her own, and he nodded back to her in acknowledgement.

“Get back to sickbay, Bones, you’ll be needed there.” Jim glanced at his friend, seeing the concern that Jim now considered a permanent fixture on the doctor’s face. “I’m fine, I’ll come down to check in soon and you can worry about me then. Go take care of my injured crew.”

* * *

The rest of the shift consisted of ship to ship communication between Jim and the other two federation captains. They consolidated their reports of the incident and shared congratulations on driving the enemy ships back into their side of space. The captains greeted Jim with familiarity, which Jim tried his best to return. He probably knew these men.

After contact broke, Jim slumped back into the chair, exhausted. He was sore and his head thrummed with the pain of trying to guess who was who on the bridge.

He was still beside Jim. He didn’t say anything, but he was standing there and watching, gauging what he should do next. Jim could feel it, the tension between the two men growing with every moment of silence that stretched.

He couldn’t take it.

Jim stood, announcing his intention to visit sickbay.

“Captain —” Spock began, but whatever he would have said was cut off by the doors of the turbolift whooshing shut.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year, I wanna die this chapter was so hard

Sickbay was a warzone. Everywhere, Jim’s crew was laying prone, every bed occupied and the blonde nurse from Jim’s operation was working quickly to stabilize the injured.

Jim stood in the doorway, searching for faces he recognized, searching for signs of casualties, for anything. He saw Doctor McCoy bending over an ensign with a jagged strip of metal jutting out of her leg, though it fortunately seemed to have missed the femoral artery. A yeoman stood against the wall, his arm cradled against his chest, wrist hanging limp with bruises already swelling.

Thankfully, it seemed that there had been no fatal injuries, and the most severe could be healed with dermal or osteo regenerators. Jim made his rounds, spoke to the crew and found it easy to support them. His presence alone boosted moral, and every crewman he spoke with seemed optimistic about their conditions and gratified by his support.

By the time he had spoken to every injured crewman, Bones had stabilized the most worrisome of conditions and walked over to Jim holding his medscanner.

“I can’t say I’m not glad you were up there saving our asses, but jesus christ, Jim —” he passed the scanner over Jim’s chest, lines etched into the space between his brows “have a little respect for the healing process.” Looking satisfied, he brought the medscarnner down, the worried look abiding ever so slightly. “Look, I’ve got plenty to deal with down here and… you obviously don’t want to hang around sickbay. So…”

“So?” Jim interjected eagerly, feeling as though he knew what the next words would be.

“So I’m discharging you with the order to go back to your quarters and  _ rest _ at least until gamma shift tomorrow. I don’t want to see you on the bridge until 1500, I want you  _ in bed _ and I want you  _ resting _ . You remember where it is?”

It wasn’t all he wanted but it would have to do. He could get back to the bridge tomorrow, he would be back where he knew exactly what was going on.

“My quarters? Yeah, deck five, I’ve got it. Thanks, Bones — and let me know if anything changes around here, and keep me updated on Lieutenant Johnson’s recovery.”

“Yeah, yeah, just get out of here you overzealous…” The rest of McCoy’s sentence was lost in indecipherable grumbling as Jim exited sickbay, walking once again to the turbolift.

“Deck Five” he spoke aloud, and the lift shot off on its way to his quarters. Something niggled at the tip of Jim’s thoughts, something he couldn’t quite place.

He would much rather be active, be doing something productive to help sort things out with repairs or delegation or  _ something.  _ But the ache in his ribs told him that Bones was right, and he knew that the chief engineer would be able to handle whatever issues they ran into with repair matters anyway. Montgomery Scott. Another name to a face. And any delegation would be done by Spock. His second in command. His… what had Bones called it?

The lift doors opened and Jim stepped out into the hallway just as lights switched into evening mode shipwide. As he made his way towards his quarters, Jim couldn’t help but to think of what McCoy had told him. The words floated through his mind, and he felt that itch again, a small, important detail just misplaced and inaccessible.

_ You  _ act _ like husbands. _

He knew he would have to confront Spock eventually, explain to him that he could not reciprocate the love that his first officer — according to McCoy — felt for him. He knew he would have to find a way to look the man in the eyes and tell him that he had no memory of their marriage or their  _ bond _ or whatever… There was just nothing Jim could do.

He knew that he would have to talk to Spock eventually, but right now… he was pretty content to follow doctor’s orders and hide away in his quarters for the next sixteen hours.

_ You  _ act  _ like husbands. _

There was something important Jim was missing —

_ You  _ act  _ like husbands. _

as he stepped up to the door of his quarters —

_ You  _ act  _ like husbands. _

and it slid open on a large cabin with a large bed and two desks and a sitting room —

_ You  _ act _ like husbands. You share quarters, you eat together, you play convoluted games of chess. _

and Spock sitting on the floor, in a robe, with his legs crossed and his eyes closed and a firepot burning incense in front of him.

*************************************

He heard the door open from a hundred miles away. His senses rushed back to him all at once as he broke from his meditative state and into the present with all of the speed of warp.

Spock slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to where Jim was standing, mouth agape, unsure, in the doorway of their quarters. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither certain of the protocol for the situation at hand. Jim’s jaw shut and Spock could see his throat work as he swallowed and opened his mouth once more.

Words bubbled up out of Jim’s mouth like a chemical reaction, they spilled and washed over Spock in bursts.

“S-sorry, I — sorry, I didn’t think — of course I was just — sorry, this is — I really shouldn’t have but, um, I-I was walking back to my — that is — Bones told me to — and I just didn’t think of — sorry — you know, I’ll just —”

“Jim.” Spock spoke the name quietly, a grounding word and gentle, wanting so badly to calm the storm he could see brewing in his anxious mind.

Jim immediately quited, his eyes snapping back to Spock where he still sat in a meditative position. Jim looked open. Vulnerable. He showed signs of discomfort, and embarrassment, yes… but he had stopped his expatiation.

Even so, Spock knew that it would be best to restrain himself. The uneasy manner with which Jim had regarded Spock on the bridge was plain indication as to the state of their relationship. 

Jim was at least looking at him now, which was an improvement.

“Captain,” He began again, cautiously “there is no need to apologize. I myself was unaware that you would be returning tonight, though it is logical considering the capacities of the medical ward.” Spock paused before speaking the next words, weighing the ramifications of their interpretation. “It is gratifying to see you cleared for duty and discharged from Leonard’s care.”

Jim’s eyes dropped from his once again, casting about the room, taking it in.

“I will, of course, vacate the premises and leave you to your rest.” Spock shifted to stand, but no sooner did he rise than he heard Jim’s quite response.

“No,” he said and then cleared his throat. “No, there’s no need, you’re — I mean, it’s your room, you don’t have to… It’s getting late.” Jim finally stepped all the way into the room, allowing to doors to slide shut behind him. He still did not meet Spock’s eyes.

Spock, on the other hand, could not bring himself to look away. He was so close, he was right there, where he belonged, but everything was wrong. He tried to reach out, to close the gap between their minds, to offer comfort — but there was nothing. There was empty space where once there had been a bond so bright it could compete with a supernova. Where their minds had once touched was now a sinkhole, dragging everything around it down, giving all reality a fuzzy quality, like that of a dream.

It was a habit, and one hard to break. When one of the two were in distress, the other could always be there to help, a constant connection, a comfort. But not anymore.

“It is not my wish to cause you any further discomfort.” Spock spoke quietly. Evenly. With control. Though in truth he was breaking down with every word. “Vulcans do not require as much sleep as humans, and I would be amenable to passing the night in another location.”

“No,” Jim said again, this time more sure of himself, able to look Spock in the face as he stepped faultingly forward. “No, that's — that's ridiculous, I mean… we've gotta talk, right?”

Spock nodded, almost imperceptibly. He could hypothesize at why Jim may say next, and none of the words were ones he wanted to hear.

_ I feel nothing for you. _

_ You are unknown to me. _

_ You repel me. _

_ How could I have loved you? _

But, as usual, Jim surprised him.

He nodded twice, seeming rather interested in his fingernails as he spoke.

“How did it happen?”

Spock assumed the safest interpretation of the question and answered that.

“There was a mission to the planet Serenus to assist with negotiations between rebel forces and the planet's government. A small fraction of the rebellion was… displeased with the treaty and attacked the capital city, Silan.” Jim had been caught in the crossfire. They all had. “You — rather forcibly — removed me from the area of impact of a bomb that was preplaced along our route by the insurgents, exposing yourself to the brunt of the exploding force.”  _ You saved my life. _ But that was not a sentiment that could be expressed here. Not with Captain James Kirk, who expected nothing but a stoic and detached Vulcan. Not with a Jim who did not know him.

“I admit I am surprised at the doctor for not informing you of the circumstances that lead to your… amnesiatic condition.” He said instead, though Jim seemed none too concerned with his observation.

“Yes,” Jim was still studying his hands, fiddling with the cuffs of his gold shirt, tracing fingers along the embroidery that denoted his rank. He stepped into the living space, and sat gingerly on the edge of the couch, the side furthest from Spock’s meditation space.

“Yes,” he repeated, and then looked directly at Spock — there was a flash of something, a spark in his eyes, something shifting and untraceable and  _ familiar _ and an ache bloomed in Spock’s side.

“And how did…  _ this _ … happen.” Those eyes were searching and burrowing and exploding and Spock had no room for misinterpretation this time, he was consumed by the question and by his desire to give Jim his answers and maybe just maybe there was some hope in it all —

There was that wearing weed of  _ hope  _ again, but no time to dwell on it now.

“Spock?” Jim spoke his name and the familiarity of it was almost unbearable.

“This,” Spock began, taking care to show none of the turmoil in his mind, “was inevitable.”

Their eyes were locked on to each other, it seemed it would be impossible to look anywhere else.

“Captain, simply put, our minds are so compatible that we were destined to meet each other. In Vulcan tradition, there is a word for the type of bond that we share. It does not translate strictly to terran or standard, and it cannot be fully comprehended by any who do not experience it. It is a bond that is held in the highest regard by my people, above the dictations of logic and beyond any attachment we form with others of our species. It is  _ T’hy’la _ , and it has often been translated as meaning friend, brother, or lover, though it is far beyond what these words connotate. It is, in fact, all three and much more. A bond of such magnitude that outweighs any separation between the two beings; they are, together, the whole of a long separated puzzle.”

It was all he could do not to tremble. He felt like holding his breath, like retreating, like hiding somewhere safe within his mind. How would Jim respond to this so  _ overtly  _ unprofessional connection between himself and his first officer when not two hours ago he would not meet Spock’s eyes?

Astoundingly, Jim chuckled.

It was a deep, quite, sound. One that Spock had memory of feeling against his chest, the heavy vibration of it making its way through every bone in his body, reassuring in it’s rumble.

“That was simply put?” Jim was smiling at Spock, was relaxed just slightly in the way his shoulders sloped, not so rigid as when he first entered.

“So… we — you and I — we’re soulmates?” Jim’s eyes had not left Spock’s in a very long time, and they did not leave him now. They continued their search of his face, looking for  _ something _ though Spock could not tell what.

His eyebrow hitched of its own accord. Such a statement seemed quite reductive when compared to Spock’s earlier exposition.

“I was drawn to you from the moment we were introduced. Your mind is… beautiful. Intricate. There were so many ideas inside of you, so many visions that sparked from your intellect. Still, when I touch you, I feel —” Spock stopped abruptly, wary of straying into this territory, this vulnerable no-man’s-land. So Spock broke the relentless eye contact and stood, finally, tugging his robes tighter across his chest. “The hour is late.”

Neither of the men moved. Spock was unsure of what was expected of him, unsure of the protocol. Jim was balancing his thoughts and what he should say next.

The silence dragged on, Spock avoiding Jim’s gaze, and Jim now unable to look away. He spoke first.

“Spock.” He was just glad Jim was alive. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not understand. Specify.”

“I’m… I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

“The blame cannot be placed on you. The circumstances are as they are.  _ Kadiith _ .”

_ What is, is. _

Jim nodded.

“I’m still sorry.”

Seconds ticked by.

Still unsure.

Still lost.

Still hopeful.

“I shall leave you to rest.”

He didn’t move.

Jim stood.

Jim stepped toward him.

Jim reached out a hand,

then let it fall between them.

“Stay. It’s your room.” He chuckled again.

“I want you to stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for reading! PLEASE let me know what worked, what didn't, what you liked about the chapter, your thoughts, what you had for dinner tonight......  
> I struggled so much with writing this chapter lmao so please give me feedback I will love u 5ever
> 
> Check me out on Tumblr @goshdangitsjo and send me a message, I love meeting new people!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am a month later w my update :)  
> Y'all. College is hard. I hope you like this chapter, I know I always do super short chapters but thats just how my brain works. This is also a bit of a weird one so uhhh yeah idk let me know what you think!

What the hell was he thinking? Everything he said came out exactly the opposite of what he meant. Or what he had decided. What he felt…

Nevermind that, it was completely unprofessional and inappropriate.

Except that they’re married.

Well, not married.

Bonded. Bond… Bondmates. That’s what Bones had said.  _ T’hy’la _ . That’s what Spock had said.

Shit, why hadn’t Bones warned him?

Jim put a hand out on the bathroom counter to steady himself. Spock had called him beautiful. Warmth crept through Jim’s chest, a flush making an appearance along his collar underneath the black of his undershirt. He double-checked the lock on the door before tugging it off over his head. He felt dizzy and he  _ ached; _ surely an effect of his still-healing ribs. Some of the soreness would abate with a shower.

Jim didn’t believe in soulmates, anyway. He’s never bought into the idea of predestination, he’d rather believe that he could choose his own way in the universe — make his own mistakes and triumph in his own victories. They were too miraculous, too fantastical to be real.

It was strange to think that this Vulcan, this stoic and straight-backed man, would be able to reconcile the existence of miracles with his logic.

But he had been so soft. So gentle with his voice, with an edge of fondness that was undeniable. And heartbreak.

Jim stood under the stream of water, hoping it would wash away his confusion and the feeling that something clung to his skin. He scrubbed until he was raw, it would not subside — and the ache was ever present. He let it run cold, and damn the waste. In his mind, the ever present cloud remained, and the sting at the back of his head worked its way forward until it was a pounding migraine.

It was just so damn  _ frustrating _ .

When he did step out of the shower, it took all of his strength. He grabbed a towel and dried himself, stepping into his sleepwear. He let out an exasperated laugh — the whole situation was ridiculous. There was a man in his bedroom, just on the other side of the wall, who he didn’t know. A man who knew Jim _so intimately_. And Jim was changing in the bathroom even when _logically_ — he laughed — there was no need for modesty. Oh christ, had he and Spock —?

Jim couldn’t even think about that right now, especially since the answer was probably — no,  _ definitely  _ — yes. He let out a groan. How was he going to work with his first officer? How was he going to spend the night with him?

_ But do you really want to be alone? _

The thought came unbidden, flooding him and seizing him and he pushed it aside because the answer was  _ no, no, of course not _ and for the life of him, he didn’t know why.

_ Fuck _ why did he have to call him beautiful?

Jim gathered his courage and stepped into the room. It was still dimly lit, and it smelled of vanilla and something acidic like oranges just as it had when he’d walked in, though the firepot had been extinguished. Spock stood by the couch, placing on it a thick blanket and a pillow. He had changed into a different set of robes; these were black and fell past his feet to pool on the floor. The sleeves were long and tapered to fit at the wrists, the neck high and tight against his throat. They seemed to be made of water, the way they rippled when he moved, the color giving contrast to his hair — it was a deep brown, Jim could see now — but the sleekness matching perfectly.

Jim felt underdressed, his sweatpants and long sleeve t shirt out of place alongside the regal picture before him. Head bowed with his hands folded behind his back.

“Captain.” Spock spoke once again with that gentle voice, so careful and even as if the air itself might break.

Jim swallowed and tore his eyes away from the man, blinking away the daze. How long had he been staring?

“Uh, yeah… uh… thanks for setting this up.” Jim gestured lamely at the couch. He moved to walk towards it, but the look that crossed Spock’s face gave him pause.

“Captain, with all due respect I must insist you sleep in the bed.” His brow was furrowed, concern and confusion lacing itself in the lines of his face. “I am quite content to pass the night here.”

“Oh.” Jim cleared his throat. “Um, well, I feel kinda bad, I mean… I mean uh… I’m shorter than you, I’d — I’d fit better.”

He felt pathetic, his attempts were weak and transparent.

If he slept in the bed, he would know that Spock had slept there, too. That Spock had shared it with him.

“Jim…” Soft. Reverent. “Captain.” Restrained. Sober. “You are still healing.”

Jim nodded, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to straighten it.

“Of course. You’re right.” Jim walked over to the bed that was too wide and too empty and pulled back the covers. “Thank you.”

Their eyes locked across the room once more. Spock gave that small nod again, the one that was barely readable that spoke so loudly.

* * *

 

In the morning, Spock was gone.

Jim lazily reached out his hand in a stretch across the bed, and it fell against empty sheets. His head twinged, but at least he felt rested. He sat up, eyes drifting toward the couch, the blanket folded over the back and the pillow put away. Jim rose from the bed, his ribs aching at the effort of sitting up, but definitely feeling less stiff than when he’d first awoke in sickbay.

He walked over to the couch and put a hand on the back of it, resting on the soft material of the blanket. It felt woolen, and it was brightly colored — teal and and beep blue interwoven in a kind of geometric angular pattern.

He brought the material up to his face, feeling the fabric against his cheek. Those same smells of vanilla and citrus rushed into his nose, and beneath it something deeper. It was a warm scent, like a summer evening after rain.

It was a safe smell.

Jim put the blanket down and took a step back. There was something there, something he couldn’t  _ hear _ if it made any sense. He wanted to hear it. It was a buzzing, a constant presence, but muffled through three inch glass.

His head swam with the effort.

He felt woozy, he felt faint. He should really probably tell Bones.

He went to the mess instead.

* * *

The communications officer was there. Jim smiled at her, walking to her table with his food. She gestured at the seat across her own and he gladly accepted her invitation.

“You’re looking better.” She said with a smile that went all the way to her eyes.

“I’m feeling better, thanks...” Jim wracked his brain for a name, but it just wasn’t there. His frustration must have shown on his face, because the lieutenant gave him another smile, more sympathetic this time.

“Uhura.”

“Uhura.” It was embarrassing, he’s the captain of this ship and he could barely remember three of his senior officers’ names. “Thanks. Um, does everyone…?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She waved the idea away with her hand. “I mean, Mr. Spock kinda told the bridge crew what was happening this morning. But it’s okay, really, we know you can still command — I mean, you saved our asses yesterday.”

Spock told the bridge.

The thought gave Jim pause.

“What did he say?”

Uhura studied him before answering.

“Just that you’re still recovering and that you’re suffering an amnesiatic episode. Not much. I kinda figured out that you were having trouble with names after you kept calling me  _ lieutenant  _ yesterday.” She winked.

“Yeah.” Jim’s eyes fell to his plate.

“Is there anything else you’re having trouble with?” Uhura was still studying him, and Jim got the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t be able to lie to her.

He let out a deep breath and pushed his plate away from himself, crossing his arms against her perceptive gaze.

“Captain…”

He looked up at her, furrowed brow and pursed lips.

“I’m just saying, Spock seems a little… off. And, I mean, he’s seemed off since Serenus, but he hasn't gotten better. And he should have. I mean, you’re here. Alive. But he’s not better.” She reached her hand out and placed it on the table between them. “Not everyone can tell, but I know when there’s something going on.”

Jim opened his mouth. Closed it. Not sure of where to begin.

“I don’t remember him.” The words came out in a whisper, but Uhura heard. “I get feelings, thoughts, there’s… I  _ want _ to remember. I want to have that again I just… Don’t.”

“You want to have what?” She spoke gently, her voice coaxing and her face open.

What did he want.

Familiarity. A place. Normalcy — but what is that?

What is normal for Jim, now? What was normal just before the explosion?

Normal is a state that is not afforded to him, he has a place. He has vague familiarity.

“I want everything to be back the way it was.”

What does that entail?

“Maybe… tell that to him.”

“I don’t…” Jim shook his head. “I don’t remember.”

Uhura smiled that gentle, kind, smile once more.

“Do you need to?”

* * *

_ Yeah, kinda,  _ was the first thought in Jim’s head. But he didn’t answer. Pretty soon, Uhura had to make her way back to the bridge. Jim followed her out, but headed to an observation deck. He only had another hour to kill before he could be back on the bridge, himself.

_ I can’t just  _ have _ a relationship with someone if we aren’t on equal ground. I can’t just… pretend that everything is okay no matter how much I want it. _

Want what? Spock?

No that was…

It was more broad than that.

Of course, Jim could admit that Spock was  _ part  _ of it, but only because his first officer seemed to be such a big part of what had been Jim’s life.

And he could see why. From what Jim had observed, Spock cared for him deeply. He was gentle, and didn’t push, but he was there for Jim to give whatever he needed. He had waited by his bed for two weeks. And, god, was he handsome, Jim could understand why he’d first taken interest in Spock —

_ Get it together. _

But was it really so bad to think that? Spock  _ is  _ his husband after all, Jim’s allowed to…

No he’s not. He can’t just  _ fantasize _ about his first officer when he doesn’t even know him. It’s just…

Jim looked out at the vast emptiness in front of him. Stars were whipping past, visible only as streaks of light spattered along the black. He felt so hopeless, so idle. Everything in him yearned to remember who he had been, but every step he took toward the truth left his head screaming. He really did feel faint, he felt dizzy…. The stars burned their trails into his eyes and light danced across his vision. The blackness enveloped him, it was all he could see, black of space and the bright white of stars.

* * *

“I can’t explain it.” Bones set down the medscanner and leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed. “There isn’t anything wrong with you, physically. Your blood pressure is back to nominal levels, a little low, but that’s to be expected after a fainting spell. I just couldn’t tell you what caused you to faint in the first place. How do you feel?”

“Tired.” Jim sat up on the biobed, his feet swinging down to land on the floor.

“What were you doing before the episode? You were on the observation deck — you ate lunch today, right? Do you have any speculations at all?”

“I was just…” Jim sighed and threw up his hands. He was so tired of talking about his own memory loss. “Trying to remember.”

“Hm…” Bones walked over to his office. “Give me a minute, I’m gonna try something.”

He walked into his office, leaving Jim sitting on the biobed. A few moments passed, and Bones emerged with a sort of metal headband — he walked over to Jim and situated the device on his head, it wrapped around the back of his skull and rested on his ears.

“This is a psionic connectivity device,” Bones explained. “It emits a psionic pulse that syncs up and adheres to human brainwaves to temporarily give psi-null species telepathic abilities. I’ve been tinkering with it a little to modify it — when I use it on you, it’ll search out areas of the brain that are inaccessible to your consciousness right now. See if there’s anything we can bring to the surface.”

“Will it bring back my memories?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Bones reached around to the right side of Jim’s face and flipped a switch next to his ear. “Let me know you feel, what you see.”

There was a humming sound that penetrated Jim’s skull. He didn’t really  _ hear  _ it, though. He didn’t  _ feel _ it either. It was more of a… sense. An addition to his mind.

Immediately what Jim felt was relief from his headache. The pounding vanished, the tear in his mind sewn up and stuffed with something fuzzy, like cotton. His head was pain-free for the first time since the accident, but also more… disjointed. He looked around the room, and it was like he was drunk. Flashes of the wall or the lights came to him, but in between were other images, all mixed up and jumbled together.

He sat on the biobed, and then on the bridge where a yeoman passed him a padd to record his captain's log.

The sterile walls of sickbay were replaced momentarily with some alien atmosphere — different plants and soil beneath his feet.

He saw his own hands when he looked down at them, and then there was another, meeting two of his fingers with its own.

A chess board sat on the table in front of him, he was playing white. Winning. Across from him his husband showed a secret smile just for Jim and he let out a laugh.

And then he was pulled out of it, and his head split open with the force of a lightning strike. He doubled over, clutching his skull in his hands, his heart racing and his breathing coming fast.

“Jim?” Bones was by his side, the device clutched in his hands.

“I…” Jim panted, trying to regain control of his breathing. “I saw… I saw some of it. I could see more, put it back on.”

Bones shook his head, regretful.

“Jim, I can’t. Your heart rate was way too high, your blood pressure spiked… I’m sorry, I had no idea the effect it would have on you.”

“But…” Jim winced, a knife of pain working its way to his forehead. “It worked, it was working.”

“I’m calling Spock down here, it’s almost the end of his shift anyway. Come back tomorrow, Jim, and we’ll see how you’re doing. For now, I need you to get some rest.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment what side of the bed you think Jim sleeps on (there IS a right answer)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @goshdangitsjo and talk to me! Send a message, I'd love to be your friend!


End file.
